CH. 13 The Trial of Courage Part I
At first, there is only light.
Then — sound. Soft, distant, like the world humming under its breath.
When the glare fades, I realize I'm no longer standing on marble but suspended in silver mist. The Resanarum has dissolved into something endless — a realm where the horizon folds in on itself, where gravity forgets its purpose.
Sorien stands a few steps away, his outline bathed in moonlight.
"Don't move," he says quietly.
"Oh, sure," I whisper back. "I'll just float here and contemplate my life choices."
The light folds inward, splitting the world into a thousand mirrored shards.
We stand in the Moon's hollow heart — a place that smells of old magic and fear.
Then, three paths unfurl before us: one gold, one crimson, one black.
The Seer's voice echoes through the mist.
"Three heirs. Three fears. Let courage be tested."
I swallow hard. "Great. We're front-row for a royal therapy session."
Gavin steps forward first, Lord Arec following him into the golden road.
The air ripples — and they vanish.
"Take the black one," I say.
Sorien turns, one brow raised.
"What?" I shrug. "Black's my favorite color. Hik hik hik."
Farro's voice cuts sharply through the haze.
"Remember your promise," he snarls at Sorien. "Make your witch-slave return what's mine."
Then he turns, dragging his lady partner toward the crimson path. They disappear in a rush of scarlet flame.
I exhale. "Well, well, well. Looks like we're left with the black path anyway. Yay."
Sorien steps forward first, the mist curling around him like living smoke. His broad back moves with quiet certainty — unhurried, unafraid.
Reluctantly, I follow.
The air shifts.
The world solidifies into a forest drenched in moonlight. Ancient trees rise like sentinels, their trunks veined with silver. Every sound is amplified — the whisper of leaves, the pulse of distant thunder.
"This... doesn't look too bad," I mutter.
Then the howling begins.
Low, guttural. Close.
A pair of eyes gleam from the darkness — too high for a wolf, too low for a man. Another follows. Then more.
Sorien's hand goes instinctively to his blade.
"Stay behind me."
I bristle. "Excuse me, I'm perfectly capable of—"
The ground trembles. Something moves between the trees — shadows with teeth, bodies half-formed from smoke and bone.
Right. Not wolves. Not quite anything.
"—running away," I finish weakly.
Sorien doesn't smile. He steps forward, sword drawn, eyes steady. "They're not real," he murmurs. "They're meant to make us flee."
"Fantastic," I whisper. "And if they're not illusions?"
"Then we fight."
The creatures close in — a ring of snarling mist and claws. The first one lunges.
Sorien meets it midair, blade flashing silver. It dissolves with a shriek like shattering glass. But two more take its place.
I bite the tip of my finger and let a drop of blood fall to the ground.
The nearest creature freezes — then hisses and veers away, turning its attention toward Sorien instead.
"What the—?" Sorien starts, but he doesn't have time to finish. Two beasts leap at him from opposite sides.
I smile lazily, inspecting my nails as though we're not about to die. "Tell me when it's over," I say.
Sorien shoots me a look — sharp, incredulous — before springing backward, his movements a blur of steel and light. He fights with the efficiency of someone born to command chaos: slicing, pivoting, vanishing into the mist and reappearing behind his enemies.
Time unravels — hours, minutes, maybe only seconds. Each heartbeat stretches like a lifetime.
The predators never tire. They circle endlessly, reforming from fog and shadow.
Whenever one drifts too close to me, it halts — trembling — then backs away. An unseen barrier hums faintly in the air around me, like a pulse of warning.
Sorien's voice cuts through the din. "Drew — look."
Through the trees, a faint light glimmers — pale, cold, and distant. The way out.
But between us and that light stands the largest creature yet — a monstrous silhouette crowned with antlers, eyes burning like dying stars.
Sorien grips his sword tighter. "This is it. The test."
He steps forward, but the ground splits beneath him — the forest shifts, swallowing him whole.
"Sorien!"
No answer.
The beast turns its gaze on me.
For one heartbeat, I think of running. Of letting the mist take me.
But then I remember his voice — don't give it fear.
I breathe once, steady, and take a single step toward the creature. Then another.
Its roar shakes the air, but I keep walking, heart hammering so loud it feels like defiance itself.
When I reach its shadow, I lift my hand — not to attack, but to touch.
The illusion breaks like glass. The mist collapses.
And I'm standing alone again — until Sorien appears beside me, kneeling, his blade gone, his breath uneven.
"You didn't run," he says hoarsely.
"Couldn't let you steal all the dramatic moments," I reply.
He almost smiles. Almost.
Above us, the Seer's voice returns, softer this time — almost proud.
"Courage is not the absence of fear. It is the will to face it."